There are milestones, and then there are MILESTONES. There are events in lives that one looks forward to, and there are those that they dread. (Okay, yes, there are a few that are ones to make fun of, too. This could easily be one of them.)

I’m headed for a big one. THE one, for many. It’s the end of the uphill swing, so they say, and it’s all downhill from here. The slow fall, the long echo of what once was. I’m going over the hill.

I’m turning 40.

I don’t really remember turning 10. I know it was a big deal because I was finally two digits. This is big, when you’re a kid. It’s maybe not as big as being 13 — there’s something to that “teen” thing — but two digits goes a long way when a week feels as long as a year.

I don’t remember turning 20, either. Not for the reasons you might thing, though. I didn’t start drinking until I was 23 (for no real reason, I should add). That summer, I was in Ottawa on a work term. I was … well, pretty alone, really, save for my friend Scott. But I don’t remember if we did anything. Kind of depressing, really…

I made up for it with my 30th birthday. I celebrated with my actual birthday with my family, but I threw a party barely a week later. It doubled as a housewarming for the house I’d bought a few months earlier. I do remember that party, and it was a lot of fun. I drank, and I remember it. I made a lot of food, I had a lot of friends, and I think I woke up with a bit of a hangover. And I have a lot of pictures to prove it, too. (The party, that is. Not the hangover.)

So here I am approaching my 40th. A “big” one. I really don’t want to repeat my 20th … not even really my 39th. I want to do something big, something fun. The question is … what? I can’t go anywhere — as much as I’d like to — our funds are quite strict as a result of our recent kitchen renovation. Having a big party isn’t quite as easy as it used to be, either — kids have a way of putting dampers on staying up late and being obnoxiously loud.